


Just a Kid From Brooklyn

by TilTheEndOfTheLinePal



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, Interrogation, Light BDSM, Marvel Universe, Memory Loss, Mild Smut, Torture, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TilTheEndOfTheLinePal/pseuds/TilTheEndOfTheLinePal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two "deleted scenes," one from "Captain America: The First Avenger" (fanfic on Bucky's capture, torture, and interrogation), and the other from "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" (fanfic on The Winter Soldier's flashbacks after "Who the hell is 'Bucky'?").</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Kid From Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> The first scene takes place in "Captain America: The First Avenger" where Bucky Barnes, a soldier in the U.S. Army is captured and tortured. The second scene takes place in "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" right after The Winter Soldier recognizes Captain America/Steve Rogers on the bridge ("Who the hell is 'Bucky'?").
> 
> In the second scene, The Winter Soldier is known as "Sergeant Winter." 
> 
> If long hair on a guy is a turn on for you, this story is for you! 
> 
> Warning: Not 100% Marvel Cinematic Universe Compliant/Not 100% Marvel Comic Book Universe Compliant 
> 
> This is my first submission on "Archive of Our Own." Be gentle...

Just a Kid From Brooklyn

By TilTheEndOfTheLinePal

Tags: James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes/OFC, The Red Skull, Johann Schmidt, Doctor Arnim Zola, The Winter Soldier, Captain America, Steve Rogers, Rebekah Barnes, Alexander Pierce, “Deleted Scenes,” Brief Smut, M/F, Light BDSM, Hair Pulling, Emotions, Angst, Interrogation, Torture, World War II, Violence, The Winter Soldier’s Gorgeous Hair

 

Sergeant Barnes crouched down, his back against a tree. He closed his blue eyes briefly, willing his ears to work better. The cold, bitter wind was distracting. Glancing towards his right, he saw a fellow United States Army soldier waiting against another tree. They nodded slightly towards each other. It was good to have a friend.

Maybe it was from poor nutrition or lack of sleep, but Bucky's mind wandered. He thought of his best friend, Steve Rogers, and allowed himself a small half grin, thinking about how badly Steve wanted to be in the Army, how he had lied on countless enlistment forms.

"Yeah, you're really missing out, Steve," Bucky thought. "No women. Food sucks. Never get to sleep. Hell, it would be nice just to sit down and watch a movie..."

  
The soldier was abruptly brought back to reality and out of his personal pity party upon hearing the sound of a man's voice. Bucky strained to hear it - the men were still far off - but he thought he could hear German language. Shouldering his M1 rifle, Bucky looked back to where his fellow soldier had been hiding, but felt a small pang in his stomach, realizing he was no longer there.

  
"Satchel?" Bucky called as quietly as he could, taking a few tentative steps around the tree. He gave a low whistle as he searched for signs of his friend. A feeling of dread began to wash over him as he thought about what it was like to be truly alone in enemy territory.

  
"Lass das!"

  
Bucky froze, hearing the click of another rifle being cocked.

  
"In deckung!"

  
"Hey..." Bucky didn't lower his gun. He knew the German soldier was standing behind him, the rifle pointed at his head. "I don't speak your language, pal..."

  
"Drop it!" the soldier commanded, translating for his enemy. "Get down!"

  
"Drop what?" Bucky nervously uttered, then shifted his shoulder against the M1. "This?" He began to turn slowly.

  
The German soldier, a little twitchy, began to cry out a stream of curse words. Bucky turned and ended the barrage of obscenities with a single shot to the soldier's head. It wasn't Barnes' first kill, but it certainly was the closest in proximity. Bucky immediately knew he was no one-man army; he took off as hard as he could, running deeper into the woods to hide.

  
This was only supposed to be a scouting mission. Nobody was supposed to get hurt or captured.

  
In a thicket of trees, they were waiting for him.

  
The soldier's heart skipped a beat. Ten-to-one, he assessed the situation. Not very fair odds.

  
"What, exactly, are you looking to find, soldier?” an officer asked him in perfect English, though the accent was distinctly German.

  
“Just out for a morning stroll,” Bucky retorted sarcastically, his gaze unblinking.

  
“Put the rifle down,” the officer ordered smoothly.

  
The Army soldier hesitated, but knew he was vastly outnumbered. With a defeated sigh, he leaned down slowly and placed the rifle on the cold, hard forest floor.

  
Bucky was rewarded with a vicious kick to his leg; he fell to one knee and instantly decided that he wasn’t going to take this lightly. To the surprise of all of the soldiers, the American rose, grabbed a German’s rifle, and shot him in the head. Bucky ducked when a shot was fired his way, but managed to turn and kill two other soldiers before they had a chance to squeeze their triggers. He took a shot at the officer, too, but the gun jammed. Throwing the rifle down, the American soldier punched out another soldier, and when another tried to put him in a headlock, Bucky relentlessly punched his opponent’s face repeatedly until he fell over. Sergeant Barnes managed to throw off one more attacker before he felt the butt of a rifle strike the base of the back of his neck. All of this occurred in a few wildly fast moments.

  
Overwhelmingly dizzy and nauseated, Bucky tried a couple of times to rise, but fell to his knees, his hand holding the back of his neck. The officer reached down Bucky’s warm jacket and ripped the dog tags over his head.

  
The officer looked down at the tag in his palm, reading, “James Barnes… I think we have a use for you.”

  
A black fabric bag was thrown over Bucky’s head and his wrists were tied behind his back. The ride back to the German’s camp was a bumpy one; the military truck didn’t have the best shocks. The trip was a silent affair and Bucky spent it wondering if things could possibly get any worse.

  
Bucky winced as light flooded his eyes, the black bag over his head having been ripped off. Two heavy hands pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him to sit on a cold metal folding chair. Burying a growing sense of fear, Bucky bent forward, sitting obediently, and ran his hands into his thick hair. He stared down at the gray concrete floor and wondered how he could possibly escape; he also wondered if anyone was looking for him and what might have happened to Satchel.

  
He could never really explain it, but Barnes could feel the German soldiers standing beside him tense up. A familiar set of dog tags were thrown onto the floor in front of him. He untangled one hand from his hair, picked up the dog tags, and, though he had seen them a million times before, he couldn't help but study:

BARNES  
JAMES B.  
2348041 ARMY  
BROOKLYN NY

It was an odd feeling, all of a sudden, to have your entire life and entire identity be suddenly summarized onto a small piece of metal. Bucky pursed his lips as heat rose through his body; he couldn't remember them taking off his dog tags, and it made him angry.

  
"I am presuming this is you?" Johann Schmidt said smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. The worshiped leader of Hydra would normally never bother to interrogate an enemy himself, but he was more than interested in the possibility of finding a super soldier.

  
Bucky kept his mouth shut and pulled the chain and dog tags back over his head, burying the tags beneath his jacket.

  
If Schmidt was angry, he at least outwardly kept his cool, though he was not used to being ignored. As Bucky watched him with steady blue eyes, The Red Skull adjusted his own face very, very slightly with a gloved hand. He eyed his reflection in the large two-way mirror and, satisfied, he began to pace slowly.

  
"Two months ago, a super soldier was made in a secret laboratory in The United States. Do you know where this laboratory, specifically, is?"

  
Bucky leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He took a good look at the German officer, assessing his more-than-perfect uniform and shiny black leather boots.

  
"No," Bucky said simply. He really didn't know.

  
Schmidt smiled wickedly. "What rank are you, soldier?"

  
Bucky opened his mouth slightly to answer, but then shut it again, unsure of where the whole situation was going and what this officer might gain from the truth.

  
"Report, soldier," Officer Schmidt growled. When Bucky still kept his silence, Schmidt began to lose his temper. It was as if The Red Skull had telepathic powers; immediately, his soldiers fired up their rifles. An extremely odd hum, like the sound of high voltage electricity, emitted from the weapons.

  
Shocked, Bucky stared at one of the rifles, both of which were aimed straight at his head. This was no ordinary World War II-standard issue rifle.

  
"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 107th Division, United States Army," the soldier said slowly and obediently, never taking his eyes off the gun.

  
Satisfied, The Red Skull continued his grin. He approached Bucky, who dared not to rise from his seat, and placed his hand under the Army soldier's chin, lifting his face away from the rifle and upward so that he could stare right into his eyes.

  
A woman's voice rang out only in Bucky's mind: "You can't fool me, sweetheart. You have the most expressive eyes. I can see right through you. You're not telling me the truth."

  
Distracted, Bucky thought of his old girlfriend and didn't hear Schmidt say, "Brooklyn, New York."

  
His voice faraway, Bucky whispered, "...What?"

  
The Red Skull lost it. He was never known to be patient. Without warning, he backhanded Bucky across the face as hard as he could. Absolutely stunned, Bucky cried out in pain and fell off the chair, landing hard on the concrete. Even the wind was knocked out of him; The Red Skull had strength far beyond any man.

  
"BROOKLYN, NEW YORK!" Johann Schmidt screamed, kicking Sergeant Barnes' ribs as soon as the soldier made an attempt to get up. Bucky could no longer cry out; his lungs burned as he tried to just take a breath. He told himself over and over just to breathe.

  
Schmidt commanded his soldiers, in German, to get Bucky up and back into the metal chair. They grabbed Bucky by the jacket and hauled him back up. The Army soldier coughed and took in a huge gulp of air.

  
Schmidt held his hands behind his back and stared down at his victim, pleased that Bucky appeared to be in pain and struggling. He continued, "The laboratory is in Brooklyn, New York. Conveniently... Consequently... that is where you are from."

  
Though his mind was racing, Bucky managed to make the connection. "I'm not a super soldier," he said darkly. His mind was indeed racing with ways to get revenge. "I didn't even know we were making them."

  
The Red Skull, as supremely intelligent as he was, wasn't sure if the soldier was telling the truth. After a moment's hesitation, Schmidt stated the obvious, "Only a super soldier could take down six men like that. Three are dead... And the other three... Will not be serving anymore."

  
Bucky swallowed hard. As angry as he was, he could still see how his enemy could make that assumption.

  
"Who trained you?" Johann asked bluntly.

  
Shaking his head 'no' slightly, Sergeant Barnes said simply, "The United States Army."

  
Rapidly enraged again, The Red Skull gripped Bucky's jacket with both hands, lifted him easily, and slammed his body back against the concrete wall as hard as he could. Bucky growled and gripped the officer's wrists with all of the strength he could muster; he aimed a kick to the German's knee. In response, Schmidt slammed Bucky back against the wall three more times, each time as forcibly as the first.

  
Bucky felt the back of his head hit the wall repeatedly; he blinked and saw stars.

  
"Who trained you?!" The Red Skull shook the soldier violently.

  
"Nobody! I'm just a kid from Brooklyn!" Bucky's chest heaved. It was all becoming too much for him. "I got into a lot of fights as a kid..."

  
Disgusted, The Red Skull dropped his victim completely and watched the soldier fall to his hands and knees. Johann concluded that he needed to bring in the best interrogator he had. The commander of Hydra obsessively straightened his uniform, said nothing further, and left the room, his soldiers trailing mindlessly and obediently after him.  
The Interrogator had to be flown in from Russia. Bucky had a lot of time on his hands.

  
Barnes was pretty good at inherently realizing what time of day it was. He correctly guessed that the sun had set and temperatures outside were dropping. Though he justifiably didn't want to be in captivity, he was mildly grateful to at least be indoors at night for once. Still. The room was becoming progressively colder and ever more eerily quiet. He had heard voices through the mirror for a while; incoherent to him, and he still did not understand German.

  
The soldier licked his dry lips, increasingly aware of how thirsty and hungry he had become. To seek some kind of comfort, he reached down through the front of his jacket and produced those familiar dog tags again. He liked the feel of the metal, especially the way the indented letters felt against his fingertips. Bucky was always skilled with his hands; back home, he had helped his grandfather build a house for Nana in the country. He had always loved the menial task of laying bricks - there was something inherently soothing about doing a task repetitively.

  
The dog tags kept Bucky occupied for a long while; he wasn't a brainiac like Steve, but Bucky had a remarkable ability to focus for a an extended period of time. He began to reason that he probably should have been scared, but the soldier found himself just lost in thought, his mind toggling among old memories. Eventually, he took in a deep breath and started to wonder about the notion of the 'super soldier'. What, were they robots or something? Something like the comic book characters he used to read as a kid? Super strength, lasers shooting from their eyes...

  
The click of the door being unbolted brought Bucky back to the present. He expected The Interrogator, but rolled his eyes a little. It was just a dame. With a tray of food and a black bag.  
Bucky sighed and leaned back against the wall. He had been sitting in the corner for a couple of hours.

  
"Good evening," she said pleasantly. "Your dinner has arrived, soldier."

  
Bucky nodded slightly and mumbled his thanks.

  
She eyed him expectantly. After a few arduous minutes, she smoothed her skirt and said politely, "Your food will get cold."

  
She was definitely Russian; the accent gave her away.

  
Bucky groaned, still sore, and picked himself off of the floor. She gave him a flirtatious smile and pushed a napkin and fork his way. Bucky sat down at the table and eyed the plate. Eggs and bacon. Toast and potatoes. He raised an eyebrow.

  
She could read his expression and laughed sweetly. "What were you expecting? German food?"

  
Despite all of the horrible things that had happened, Bucky couldn't help but laugh. He stabbed a potato chunk with the fork. But, then a thought came to him.  
"What's in it?" he asked suspiciously.

  
"Oh, please..." she took the fork from his hand and ate the bite of food. Just to prove a point, she took a bite of the toast as well.

  
A little embarrassed, Bucky sheepishly began to eat. It was the best food he had had in months. Even the accompanying strong coffee was gloriously delicious.  
Bucky was kind of a flirt. "What's a dame like you doing here? Working in a place like this?"

  
"This 'dame' has a name, you know."

  
Despite his normal sarcastic self, Bucky's cheeks reddened a bit. "I'm sorry... What's your name?"

  
"Elsie. And, you are... Wait, don't tell me." Bucky had forgotten to hide his dog tags again. She picked them up and eyed them with interest. "What does the 'B' stand for?"

  
"Buchanan," he said simply, nearly already done with his food. Army men always ate fast. "My friends call me 'Bucky'."

  
"Oh." She gave him a cute smile, placed the tags back under his jacket, and patted his chest. Elsie reached in her coat pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. "Care for one?"

  
Bucky liked this girl. He grinned. "Sure..."

  
After lighting the soldier's cigarette and attending to her own, Elsie took a drag and pursed her lips, slowly exhaling the smoke. "Can I call you 'Bucky'?"

  
He made no effort to hide that he was checking her out. It was nice to finally see a dame again. And, a pretty one at that. "You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart."

  
Elsie laughed, throwing her head back. Bucky admired her red hair and perfectly coifed pin curls. She looked like a damn pin up girl. His eyes trailed down her curves as he smoked his cigarette. Hopeless, dirty thoughts raced through his mind. It dawned on him that they were indeed alone in the interrogation room.

  
She watched him watching her for a while, then made a slow decision to get back to work. "So..." she began. "Any medical procedures lately?"

  
Bucky finished his coffee. "What do you mean?"

  
Elsie had the hands of a surgeon. She deftly plucked the half-smoked cigarette from Bucky's hand. "Would you be so kind as to take off your jacket, Bucky?"

  
“You get right to the point, don’t you?” Bucky stood from the metal folding chair and unbuttoned his thick jacket. He didn’t hesitate to drop it onto the table.  
Elsie was amused. She eyed his Army t-shirt. “And, that, too… ”

  
The soldier couldn’t suppress another laugh. “Alright… ” Bucky took off his t-shirt and still had a black tank top on. “So… Do you want me to keep going?” he asked suggestively with a wink.

  
“Better not.” Her tone matched his perfectly. “I wouldn’t want to swoon.”

  
“Mmmhmm… I’d catch you.”

  
“I’m sure you would.”

  
Elsie’s hands were cold as she trailed them over Bucky’s shoulders and biceps. He shuddered briefly, but then tried to play it off as if he was yawning. When Elsie turned momentarily to open a black bag, Bucky had a furious debate in his head as to whether or not to slap her ass. In the end, the angel beat the devil and he forced himself to get a grip.

  
Elsie took her time, listening to Bucky’s heart with a stethoscope. After taking his blood pressure, she placed her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down a little to check his pupil response with a penlight. Bucky’s confusion grew.

  
“What are you, some kind of nurse?” he asked, standing straight again.

  
“Something like that.” Elsie put down the equipment and produced a fresh syringe.

  
“Whoa, wait a minute… ” Bucky protested, taking a small step back.

  
A new smile graced Elsie’s face. “Big soldier like you… You’re not afraid of a little needle, are you?”

  
“No, of course not… ” Bucky barely had the words out as Elsie tied a thick rubber band around his bicep before prodding his vein with her suddenly gloved pointer finger.

  
“Just… checking to see if you’re healthy, Bucky… ” Her hands were so steady and smooth that he could barely feel the needle enter his vein.

  
“You’re a terrible liar,” Sergeant Barnes said lowly, but he dared not move.

  
“It’s not every day,” she said in her thick Russian accent, “that you meet a super soldier.”

  
“I’m not… ” Bucky sighed. So, it was back to this.

  
“I believe you.” Elsie capped the needle and ejected the blood into a glass tube.

  
“Oh, yeah?” The soldier’s suspicions rose to the surface again. “How do you know?”

  
Elsie avoided his question and motioned for her patient to sit down again. Bucky complied. “I don’t think you are enhanced, but I do think you know someone who is.”

  
The Russian methodically returned her medical supplies to the black bag and handed Bucky a black and white photograph. Bucky glanced up into her eyes momentarily, then took the picture from her hand, studying it carefully. It was a man wearing some kind of patriotic outfit, his face masked, a stars-and-stripes shield on his arm. It appeared to be some kind of advertisement to buy war bonds.

  
“Do you know him?” Elsie questioned him, staring intently at Bucky’s handsome face. The first few seconds always revealed the truth.

  
Sergeant Barnes’ eyebrows were furrowed. “No… ” he said slowly. “He looks like a fairy.”

  
“They call him ‘Captain America.’”

  
“Fairy name,” Barnes mumbled, handing the advertisement back to Elsie.

  
“He’s all the rage in America right now. Comic books, movies, trading cards… ”

  
Bucky failed to see his role in all of this and increasingly became irritated. “What does this have to do with me?”

  
“Maybe this will help.” Elsie handed the soldier a different photograph.

  
The soldier was in the middle of wishing he was smoking the cigarette again when his thoughts abruptly froze upon seeing the new photo. He stared at it for a while, rapidly discerning that the next few moments of his life would be extremely important.

  
“Don’t know him,” he said simply, handing back the photograph.

  
“You sure you don’t need another look?”

  
Bucky leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head, forcing his body to relax. He busied himself by balancing the heel of one boot on the toe of the other. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”

  
“There is a saying we have in Russian. Well… ” Elsie laughed a little. “Among my friends, at least.” She uttered a phrase in her native tongue.

  
Bucky shook his head to indicate that he didn’t speak Russian, either.

  
“It goes, ‘Men respond to pain. Women, not so much'.”

  
He knew exactly where this was going. Just to be a pain in the ass, Bucky asked, “So, how do you interrogate women, then? If they don’t respond to pain.”

  
The Interrogator tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Interesting thing – pain.” Elsie lightly traced her fingertips along Bucky’s bare left shoulder.

  
An odd electrical surge coursed through Bucky’s body, causing him to gasp loudly. His eyes wide, he urgently glanced from Elsie’s fingertips, to her emotionless face, and back to her fingertips again. There was no visible indication of any kind of trauma or source of the fiery, intense pain. As soon as Elsie reached for him again, Bucky abruptly stood, knocking over his chair, and took two major steps back.

  
Elsie was fast. She chased Bucky down and gripped his forearm with both of her hands. The soldier’s involuntary, tormented screams filled the small concrete room. Bucky didn’t have time to think, nor was he thinking clearly. With his free arm, he viciously backhanded The Interrogator, sending her flying across the room.

  
The Russian recovered quickly and charged at Bucky. This time, her hand connected to the side of his neck and the soldier fell hard to his knees, breathless, as his mind tried desperately to comprehend the pain. It was like nothing he had ever felt before; no injury he had ever sustained compared to her touch. Bucky felt as though he was going insane.

  
Elsie righted the metal chair, gripped the Sergeant’s tank top, pulled him up, and forced him to sit back down. Her touch somehow normal again, she pulled Bucky’s forearms behind him and slapped bitterly cold metal handcuffs on his wrists. The soldier put up a haphazard fight; he struggled some, as his body would allow.

  
Sweating from her effort, Elsie checked the cuffs several times, making sure they were secure. Satisfied, she panted, “Do you want to see that photograph again, Sergeant Barnes?”

  
Bucky was also panting, though harder. “Sergeant Barnes? What happened to ‘Bucky’? I thought… I thought we were friends.” He didn’t bother to hide the hate in his words.

  
Elsie laughed in the back of her throat. She had definitely cracked harder nuts than this. The Interrogator smoothly straddled the soldier’s lap.

  
Bucky looked away, irked and frustrated. Finally, he was getting some action, and he couldn’t enjoy himself. He cursed himself out loud for flinching when Elsie brought her hand to his face. There was no pain this time.

  
The Interrogator was amused with the flinch. She turned on the charm that Bucky had fallen victim to minutes before. “What kind of lover are you?”  
Bucky bared his teeth a little, refusing to meet her eyes. “What?” he breathed, his muscles tensing in anticipation.

  
“You know, what turns you on? Everyone has a trigger.” The more seconds passed, the more impatient Bucky became. The Interrogator’s patience only grew. She studied him for a while, noting the blue eyes and thick brown hair which hadn’t been cut in a while. Even noticing the inch-long, deep scar cutting through his left eyebrow.

  
Elsie turned Bucky’s face to meet hers. The soldier and The Interrogator stared into each others' eyes. Inwardly, the Russian was immensely pleased. Bucky’s breathing deepened, long gusts escaping his nostrils. He increasingly began to hold his breath in intervals as he desperately tried to regain his composure.

  
Finally, Elsie leaned forward and planted a gorgeous kiss on Bucky’s lips. The soldier didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even close his eyes. Noting his stiff body, Elsie pulled back and said seductively, “Nope…Not that way.” An interesting thought occurred to her. Without any warning, she slapped Bucky’s face hard, then ran her hand straight into his hair, pulling viciously.As soon as Bucky cried out, she shoved her tongue in his mouth, kissing him as fervently as she could, abruptly shutting him up.

  
Bucky lost it. He kissed her in return, completely and fully, moaning loudly in the back of his throat. The kiss lasted for ages; when Elsie finally pulled back, Bucky gasped for air and uttered another pleasurable moan. Lost in the moment, he couldn’t open his eyes.

  
“Good boy,” Elsie purred, running both hands through his hair, then down his neck and shoulders. She shifted her hips, opening her legs wide, and felt him through his trousers. “You’re kind of naughty, aren’t you? When was the last time?”

  
Bucky leaned forward a little and kissed The Interrogator a few more times. “For what?” he mumbled against her lips.

  
“When was the last time you were intimate with a woman?” Elsie reached her hand between her legs and caressed him.

  
“Oh, God… ” Bucky sighed, lost in how good everything felt. “I don’t know. A few months maybe?”

  
Elsie gripped a huge handful of his hair again and pulled his head back painfully, making the soldier cry out in ecstasy again. She bit his neck, which only drove Bucky even more crazy.“Do you want me?” she mumbled against his ear.

  
“Fuck, yes… ” Barnes licked his lips.

  
She unzipped his trousers, lifted her skirt, and rode him for a while. Just before he was about to climax, Elsie stood, abruptly cutting off his pleasure. Bucky growled deeply.  
His breathing out of control, he managed to utter, “You fucking tease… ”

  
“Tell me who he is and I’ll make it worth your while,” she negotiated, being careful not to touch him.

  
“Ugh!” Bucky shouted, throwing his head back in frustration.

  
“Who is he? Who is the man in the picture?” she pressed.

  
“Finish it, and then I’ll tell you,” Bucky countered through gritted teeth.

  
Elsie smirked. She liked it when men played hardball with her.

  
It was the hardest, most satisfying orgasm Bucky had ever experienced in his life. Even The Interrogator enjoyed herself immensely, also wildly satisfied with the whole encounter.

  
Overwhelmingly sated, Elsie took her time, righting their clothing. Bucky was still and breathing slowly and deeply. He looked as though he might have been half asleep.

  
“Alright, Bucky,” Elsie said finally.

  
Sergeant Barnes opened his eyes. He was still seated, his wrists still tightly handcuffed behind his back. “You know… ” he started, his voice distant, “I don’t think I can remember now… ”

  
The Interrogator cried out furiously and punched Bucky squarely in the jaw hard enough to knock him to the ground. She uncharacteristically lost all patience and any shred of composure left her completely. A long string of Russian curse words flowed freely from her lips as she kicked Bucky’s abdomen over and over again. When she finally stopped, the soldier coughed, though his cough rapidly transitioned to a maniacal laughter.

  
Two German soldiers burst through the door and both had to use a considerable amount of strength to pull The Interrogator away from the Army soldier. One of them spoke in broken English, “You cannot kill him… ”

  
“Oh, yeah?” Elsie shouted and continued to scream as the German soldiers dragged her away.

  
Not long after the silence started, a short, bespectacled man entered the room. Bucky had ceased his outward, maniacal laughter and had calmed down enough, only emitting an occasional chortle.

  
“Sergeant Barnes?”

  
Bucky managed to look up, though he still lay on his side, bound at the wrists.

  
“I am Doctor Arnim Zola… Are you enjoying your stay with us?”

  
The soldier’s somber, taciturn attitude returned. He stared off into the distance, thinking about the photograph again, trying to reason everything out. It had been a picture of a very athletic, tall man, but he had Steve Rogers’ face. How in the world was that possible? Steve was a short, scrawny kind of guy. Always getting beat up. Asthmatic. Heart of gold, sure, but… This was impossible. Some kind of trick.

  
Doctor Zola crouched down beside the soldier and swabbed the side of Bucky’s neck with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. Zola’s hands where nowhere near as pleasant as Elsie’s. The doctor made no effort to preserve Bucky’s comfort; a thick needle pierced the soldier’s skin and a viscous liquid was injected straight into the carotid artery. Zola hummed a little as he put pressure on the small wound.

  
Zola could read Bucky’s concerned expression. “It is a new drug I invented,” the doctor explained. “I have no idea how much to give a man such as yourself. The laboratory rats died at a comparable dose.”

  
Bucky’s world went completely blank, and he had a sudden, violent seizure. Zola clucked his tongue – most definitely, he would write, he overdosed the hell out of the American soldier.  
The next three days were a confusing blur of deep unconsciousness, followed by further interrogation and more needles. Unknown uniformed people tried to get Bucky to stand, to see if he could pick up a heavy weight, but even when Bucky did try to cooperate, his body wouldn’t allow him to stand for more than a few minutes.

  
The only reason why they finally left him alone, strapped to a metal table, was because of the sudden uprising of the American prisoners. Bucky lay helpless on the table, no longer seeing a point in struggling. He knew he was going to die and had resigned himself to his fate.

  
“Bucky?!” Steve Rogers cried out, finding his best friend. He immediately released Sergeant Barnes from his bonds.

  
“What the hell happened to you?” Bucky asked, leaning heavily on Steve. He didn’t fully comprehend what was going on and doubted that Steve was actually there. It was impossible, however, not to realize how tall Steve suddenly was.

  
“I joined the Army.”

****************************************

  
“Bucky?”

  
“Who the hell is ‘Bucky’?”

  
The Winter Soldier obediently handed over an assault rifle, two handguns, and a knife to a Hydra agent. The bunker was abuzz with activity. Men were talking on their secure cell phones, communicating the latest news on S.H.I.E.L.D. and Captain America.

  
To a normal bystander, the noise in the room wasn’t overwhelming. However, Sergeant Winter swallowed hard, his heart rate steadily increasing. Without a word, he ducked out of the weapons vault and began to unzip his jacket with his right hand.

  
The image of the guy on the bridge wouldn’t leave his mind.

  
Midstride, The Winter Soldier had a frighteningly vivid flashback.

  
“Come on, Rebekah… ” Bucky pleaded, looking down into his little sister’s eyes. “Just one date.”

  
“No!” she protested. “No way. Absolutely not.”

  
A fifteen-year-old Bucky Barnes rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll give you fifty cents just to hold his hand in the hallway.”

  
"The answer is still no..." Rebekah solidly stated, stealing a bite of tuna casserole. Bucky had been preparing dinner for the family that night. "I wouldn't hold that little urchin's hand for fifty bucks."

  
"He's a nice guy, you know," Bucky mumbled, wiping his hands on a towel and turning off the oven. The end-of-school-year dance was coming up, and Bucky had been asking every girl he knew if they'd go out with his best friend, Steve Rogers.

  
Mrs. Barnes strolled into the kitchen, a blissful smile on her beautiful face. "Okay! I'm ready! Where is she?"

  
Rebekah set the table while Bucky finished putting together an orange and watercress salad. Mrs. Barnes' oldest child looked over his shoulder, then back down to the salad.

  
"You look great, Ma," he said gently.

  
"Thank you, James," said Mrs. Barnes. "Rebekah, would you be a doll and open the window? It's such a nice night."

  
"Yes, ma'am." Rebekah adjusted a third napkin and opened the dining room window. The neighbors always praised Mrs. Barnes for having such obedient children.

  
Mrs. Barnes took a seat at the dinner table and smoothed her floral dress. Bucky placed the casserole and the salad on the table.

  
"We can't start without Pearl!" exclaimed Mrs. Barnes. "Where is she, James?"

  
Bucky avoided his mother's eyes. "She's not coming, Ma..."

  
Rebekah uttered a guffaw as she began to serve the salad. "Oh, God, Bucky. What *did* you do this time?"

  
Rolling his eyes, Bucky fired back, "What *I* did? Why? What did you hear?"

  
Laughing still, Rebekah's voice was deeply sarcastic. "I didn't hear anything! Let's do a head count here with your long list of girlfriends. There was Judy, who you broke up with because the new girl at school was prettier."

  
Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat and mindlessly toyed with his fork.

  
"Then there was Edith, who practically worshiped you..."

  
Cutting her off, Bucky defended himself, "Clingy. She was way too clingy."

  
"Margaret, Sharon, Agnes..."

  
Bucky's cheeks reddened. "Alright! Alright!"

  
Mrs. Barnes grinned, patting her son's hand. "It's okay, sweetie. There are always more fish in the sea. Oh, but I really liked Pearl. Your father is going to be so disappointed."

  
Bucky and Rebekah exchanged glances.

  
"Which reminds me," Mrs. Barnes continued. "I completely forgot that today the newspaper boy was going to stop by to collect his dues."

  
The family fell silent for a short while as they ate their dinner. Bucky pushed a few noodles around his plate with the fork, feeling a weight on his shoulders. He thought about the family's bank account and started to wonder if Mr. Macintosh might let him work a few more hours at the grocery store on the weekend.

  
A deep sigh fell from Mrs. Barnes' lips. "The casserole is delicious, James. It's a shame your father is running late again tonight. He works so hard."

  
Bucky dropped his fork which clanged on the china plate and stood up suddenly. "I gotta go," he declared, his entire body tense.

  
"But, you haven't finished your dinner!" Mrs. Barnes protested, looking up at her son.

  
Rebekah swallowed hard, for once at a loss for words.

  
When Bucky stormed away from the table to retrieve his jacket, Mrs. Barnes called out, "James Buchanan Barnes! You haven't been excused!"

  
Bucky gripped the collar of his jacket tightly with both hands. "Dad's been dead for three years, Ma!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth.

  
"What?" Mrs. Barnes breathed, overwhelmingly confused.

  
"Oh, that's great, Bucky!" Rebekah cried out, her temper flaring. "Yeah, that's real helpful..."

  
Bucky cursed under his breath. "I can't take this..." He abruptly left his family's apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  
The night air was a little cooler than normal for the season. Bucky buried his hands in his pockets, his sneakers making furious strides on the asphalt. Though he didn't realize it at first, his body was automatically walking him to a place he knew he'd be safe.

  
Bucky Barnes brushed hot tears from his eyes with the back of his hand before knocking on the door to a familiar apartment two blocks from his own.

  
"Well, hello there, James!" Mrs. Rogers - Steve's mother - greeted him at the door.

  
Bucky instantly fired up his normal sarcastic and jocular attitude. "Good evening, Mrs. Rogers. Is Steve home?"

  
"Oh, yes," she said, moving aside to let Bucky in. "You're just in time!"

  
"Oh, yeah?" Bucky laughed. "Good 'cuz I'm hungry."

  
"No, no. You're just in time to do the dishes."

  
"Aw, Mrs. Rogers... I'm a growing boy."

  
"Mmhmm... Steve is in the kitchen. Doing chores. Which you should be at home, doing."

  
"Yes, ma'am," Bucky mumbled, making his way into the kitchen where he did, in fact, find Steve Rogers washing the dinner dishes in the sink. Instead of helping his best friend, Bucky helped himself to a leftover piece of meatloaf.

  
"Good meatloaf, Mrs. Rogers!" Bucky called from the kitchen before devouring another bite. "Hey, Steve..."

  
"She's doing it again, huh?" Steve didn't even look up from the sink.

  
Bucky swallowed and paused. "What are you talking about, pal? Hey, that dance is coming up..."

  
Steve and Bucky had been best friends since the third grade. "Your Mom, Buck. Losing touch with reality."

  
Bucky's hand trembled ever so slightly as he put down his plate and fork. He opened his mouth to say something, to make up some kind of story to distract Steve, but he was absolutely speechless. More bitter tears welled up in his eyes. Bucky turned away.

  
Steve dried his hands on a dish towel and gently touched his friend's shoulder.

  
Before he could stop himself, Bucky admitted, "I don't know what to do."

  
The Winter Soldier snapped back to reality. A Hydra soldier had been quietly studying him during the flashback. Sergeant Winter glanced at the soldier, then continued his journey through the hallway, unzipping his jacket and trying to appear as if nothing had happened. The soldier followed Winter soundlessly, increasingly worried.

  
Winter gasped and ran a hand into his hair, clutching onto a huge handful, as another vision hit him, somehow even harder than the first.

  
Even though James Buchanan Barnes was born in Indiana, his family had moved to Brooklyn, New York, just before Rebekah made her appearance in the world. Growing up in Brooklyn was rough at times; it was the kind of environment that could bring out the worst in people, but Steve Rogers' influence always kept Bucky on the high ground of morality.

  
Steve had pissed off yet another bully. This particular bully's name was Walter and he was well on his way to becoming a future sex offender. Walter had been assaulting a girl from Steve's high school math class, and Steve wasn't going to stand for it.

  
"You're gonna pay for that, punk!" Walter cried out, his fist connecting nicely into Steve's left eye orbit. Steve went down to the asphalt of the alley, but, after a few painful moments, he managed to get back up.

  
Out in the street, Bucky had just picked up his weekly wages from working at the grocery store. He watched a tearful girl rush past him, sighed, and said aloud, "Oh, no..." He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but he guessed Steve had something to do with it.

  
Turning the corner, Bucky found that he did, in fact, make quite the educated guess.

  
Before Walter knew what had hit him, Bucky was on top of him in no time. Barnes had become a great self-taught street fighter; he never actively sought out a scuffle, but he wasn't afraid to join one. Unfortunately, this time, Bucky kind of lost his mind. Dealing with his father's death, his mother's increasing lack of sanity, and wielding normal teenage life had taken its toll.

  
This time, Bucky severely injured Steve's attacker. And, Walter's gang was watching the whole incident.

  
His fists bloody, Bucky stood over Walter's alive, but unconscious, body. Bucky's breaths came in oddly deep, slow intervals.

  
He heard his name being shouted over and over again very distantly in the background. Finally, when Steve shook his shoulder, Bucky came back to reality and followed his friend's urgent gaze over to the waiting gang. There were six of them. Two of them were holding knives.

  
Even a crazed man can realize when he's outnumbered. Wordlessly, Bucky gripped the front of Steve's shirt and drug him out of the alley, forcing him to run. The gang chased after both of them at full force.

  
Steve and Bucky sprinted down the wide Brooklyn sidewalk, passing storefronts and the barber shop, the gang of teenage boys right at their heels. When Steve's lungs gave out and he began to slow down, Bucky turned to look at him and suddenly stumbled, tripping over his own feet. Having no time to catch himself going at full speed, Bucky fell and slammed the left side of his head against the brick ledge of an Italian restaurant window.

  
Bucky was out cold even before he crumpled to the ground.

  
In the ensuing chaos, patrons filed out of the restaurant, having seen the scene unfold from the large window. The gang of boys probably would have delighted in kicking their offender while he was down, but there were too many witnesses; the boys took off running in the opposite direction.

  
Everyone stared at Bucky, afraid to do something. Steve dropped to his knees beside his friend and called out his name. Luckily, a nurse had been dining in the restaurant, and she took charge of the situation. She didn't hesitate to push Steve aside and roll Bucky over onto his back.

  
Steve flinched, seeing the disturbing amount of blood pouring from a deep wound cutting through Bucky's left eyebrow.

  
"Don't worry," the nurse assured Steve. "Head wounds always look worse than they really are... What's his name?"

  
Stuttering a little, Steve answered, "Bucky... Uh, I mean James. Sorry."

  
"James?" the nurse called out to her patient. She tried tapping his face sharply. Getting no response, she began to run her hand roughly along his chest to try to bring him back.

  
The restaurant owner appeared, looking annoyed.

  
"Do you have a telephone?" the nurse asked him.

  
The owner nodded, untying his apron.

  
"Call an ambulance, then..." her voice trailed off as she realized Bucky's lips had started to turn blue.

  
Steve felt nauseated as he watched the nurse pinch Bucky's nostrils closed and breathe down his throat. After five long breaths, Bucky finally gasped, his body twitching, as he started to breathe on his own again, though he remained hopelessly knocked out.

  
Hours later, Steve fell asleep in an uncomfortable chair next to Bucky's hospital bed. He had already called Bucky's sister and assured her everything would be taken care of. Steve then called his own mother and father and made up a story about how he was going to spend the night at Bucky's and, yes, he knew he would have to make sure he got his homework done.  
When he finally woke up, Bucky felt amazing. He had received a heavy shot of morphine and all was right with the world. He grinned a little, seeing his best friend snoozing.

  
"Steve."

  
Rogers woke with a start. "Well... Look who's awake. You should see the other guy."

  
Bucky laughed weakly, licking his dry lips.

  
"You know," Steve began, crossing his arms as he still sat in the chair, "you get more action while unconscious than I ever have in my whole life."

  
"Oh, yeah?"

  
"Yeah. You should see the nurse that gave you mouth-to-mouth."

  
"Oh, shit..." Bucky laughed again. "Was she hot?"

  
Steve nodded solemnly, but quickly laughed as well. "Mmhmm... Yep."

  
Gradually, Bucky's smile faded. "You know, Steve, I may not always be around to finish your fights."

  
Steve nodded in agreement, but added, "Yeah, I had him on the ropes."

  
Sergeant Winter tentatively brought the fingertips of his right hand over to his left eyebrow, carefully feeling the inch-long scar over his eye.

  
The Winter Soldier's terrifying screams filled the hallway. The entire unit of Hydra soldiers fell silent for a few long moments before people sprang into action. Hydra's top assassin had never lost his nerve, had never really displayed any emotion, but they had had a meeting once where Alexander Pierce harshly and explicitly ordered that nobody was to talk to The Winter Soldier, that he was an asset, not a person. However, Pierce also warned them all that Winter could become violent and unstable. It had never happened before, but Hydra had a plan for everything.

  
Winter took out his confusing mix of fear, frustration, sadness, and (oddly) joy by punching the nearest concrete wall with his metal fist, over and over again, each punch with an accompanying frustrated yell. Winter successfully made a decent dent in the wall; flecks of concrete tumbled to the ground. The Hydra soldier who had been watching him the whole time pulled out a complex electrode from his pocket and managed to press it against Winter's arm, right below the red star, where it had been damaged by Captain America's shield.

  
His technological arm disabled, Winter immediately switched arms and began punching the wall with his normal fist as hard as he could. It was a miracle he didn't break every bone in his hand.

  
As soon as the observant Hydra shoulder grabbed Winter's normal arm to stop him from relentlessly punching the wall, Winter head butted him, knocking him out immediately. Two other soldiers tried to tackle him, but he threw them off seamlessly.

  
Hearing the commotion, a new Hydra physician rushed out of the infirmary. She watched Winter's rampage for a short while, noting that he relentlessly beat up more Hydra agents, furiously yelling at the top of his lungs. Calculating carefully, Doctor Sheila Petersen waited until Winter paused to take off the electrode on his metal arm. Taking advantage of the distraction, Petersen reached up and embedded both of her hands into The Winter Soldier's hair before yanking him down to the ground with all of her strength. As soon as his hair was pulled, Winter's eyes rolled back and fluttered closed. He sighed deeply and allowed Petersen to click on a black tactical mask over his face, muzzling him into submission.

  
Panting hard, Doctor Petersen kneeled beside Winter, who lay on his back on the cold metal grate of the floor. She continued to run her hand through his long hair repeatedly, calming Winter down.

  
"How the hell..." a Hydra agent started.

  
"It's not rocket science," Petersen cut him off sharply. "I watched him recover after coming out of the cryogenic chamber. When he finally stopped vomiting and retching, Sergeant Winter spent hours hiding in a corner, holding his own hair. It's his emotional trigger. Really, you guys need to pay attention sometimes."

  
Bucky Barnes sat in the corner of his dark bedroom, listening to the torrential downpour slamming against the window. He tentatively touched the stitches cutting through his eyebrow. He jumped a little, hearing the click of the bedroom door being opened.

  
Mrs. Barnes closed the door behind her gently and padded barefoot over to her son. She was wearing a long white nightgown. She watched as her son squeezed his blue eyes shut and cowered in the corner, pressing his bare right shoulder against the dry wall. Soundlessly, Mrs. Barnes sat next to Bucky and began to run her hand comfortingly over his thick brown hair.

  
"You look so much like your father, James."

  
Bucky began to cry hard. His voice trembling, he sobbed, "Dad's dead, Ma..."

  
"I know," Mrs. Barnes said softly. "I'm so sorry, Bucky."

  
His crying came to an abrupt halt. His mother had never called him 'Bucky'. It was a name that Steve Rogers had started for him in the third grade and everyone in school had taken to it as a term of endearment for James Barnes, who was always sweet to everybody and had become rather popular all throughout school.

  
"I love you, son."

  
The Winter Soldier, his eyes closed and his breathing slow, mumbled into his mask, "I love you, too, Mom."

  
Alexander Pierce had been notified of The Winter Soldier's emotional and mental breakdown. He dropped everything he was doing at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and rushed to the Hydra bunker.

  
"I don't think you want to go in there, sir," a Hydra agent warned Director Pierce. "He's unstable..."

  
Pierce ignored the agent and pushed his way over to The Winter Soldier, who was sitting in a caged, locked, and familiar room. Winter was still wearing his mask; his jacket had been removed and he wore all black, from his tank top, cargo pants, to his heavy boots. He slouched in his chair, intently staring at the floor. Another skilled Hydra agent was repairing his metal arm, but stopped and excused himself upon Pierce's appearance.

  
Director Pierce placed his hands on his hips and studied The Winter Soldier. He knew this day would come eventually. Two Hydra agents held assault rifles, pointed at Winter's head to protect the director. Pierce ignored them.

  
Finally, Pierce removed Winter's mask and tossed it aside. Alexander Pierce, too, had witnessed Winter's transition from a frozen state, though he had seen it several times. Winter always had the exact same recovery. The director grasped a handful of Winter's hair and pulled his head back to look into his eyes. There was a valid, logical reason why Pierce had allowed Winter to break regulation and grow his hair out.

  
"Your work has been a gift to mankind," Pierce tried to assure Winter.

  
The Winter Soldier said nothing in return, emotionally spent. His mind focused only on the feel of Pierce's hand.

  
"Mission report," Director Pierce ordered.

  
Winter's eyes glazed over. He wasn't exactly all there.

  
Pierce let go of the soldier's hair and backhanded him across the face. The men holding the guns gripped their weapons tighter. Winter didn't utter a sound.

  
"Mission report. Now," Pierce pressed.

  
"Who was the guy on the bridge?" Winter asked, his voice faraway.

  
Alexander tensed up. Captain America had been a severe thorn in his side. "You met him on a mission this past week."

  
Winter's eyes shifted from side to side as he thought. "But, I knew him..."

  
"Prep him," Pierce ordered without hesitation.

  
An agent spoke up nervously, "But, sir, he's been out of the cryo state for too long."

  
"Do it," Director Pierce said, narrowing his eyes.

  
Winter's shoulders fell and he swallowed hard, an overwhelming sense of sadness consuming him. All of the progress his mind had made was about to be wiped out completely. And, there was nothing he could do about it. He felt an agent shove a plastic guard into his mouth and obediently lay back in his chair.

  
Director Pierce stormed out of the room as soon as Sergeant Winter began screaming painfully.

  
The Winter Soldier was rapidly and electrically brought back to his normal, emotionless and ruthless state.


End file.
